


ad meliora

by poppywine



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Reader-Insert, Slow Build, Species Dysphoria, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2020-11-07 23:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20825894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poppywine/pseuds/poppywine
Summary: And then she’s kissing you. It’s a clumsy attempt, just her lips against yours, almost shy in their pressure. Still, you don’t move away until she does, watching the emotions flicker across her face as she struggles to form words.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title translates to "towards the better” because y'know, Spinel.

_ **(June 25th, 11:00AM)** _

When you finally get out of bed to start your day, you’re surprised to find you’re in a better mood than expected. Even with your hair flattened against your head and one sock slipping off you find yourself smiling at the caws of the seagulls and whistling- _whistling_! As you whip up your usual breakfast for one. It isn’t until you’re actually eating that you realize you have the day off- a full 24 hours to do whatever you want, free of endless proofreading and ghostwriting. A slow smile curls across your face at the fact, and you let out a delighted whoop around a mouthful of fruit salad_. _

_ Thank god, _ you think to yourself, haphazardly spearing more fruit in your enthusiasm. _ I can finally _ ** _do _ ** _ things. _

Normally, you’re resigned to staying at home on your days off in an attempt to stay within your tight budget, but the weather is beyond perfect today, with a baby blue sky and cottony clouds. So against the complaints of your bank account, you hop on your scooter and make the trip to the nearest town.

* * *

The stores in Beach City aren’t as good as the mall in Ocean Town, if you’re being honest, but after the problem (namely the fire) in Ocean Town your options for shopping are frankly, insanely limited right now. But that’s really neither here nor there really- instead you turn your attention to the warmth of the sunlight on the boardwalk around you, enjoying the sounds of the happy crowds milling aimlessly about. You let your mind wander as you slip in and out of the throngs, enjoying the way the breeze ruffles your hair. As you make your way down the boulevard, dodging reckless pedestrians and the occasional surfboard something catches your eye- a wide-open store front, surrounded by kiddie rides and spilling neon light onto the crowd. On impulse you duck in, sidestepping the screaming children that threaten to overwhelm you, and let your eyes adjust to the neon-studded darkness. It takes you a second to recognize the sounds and the look of the place: it’s an arcade, a big one at that, and the goofy sound effects that you can pick out over the commotion make you smile with a fond nostalgia. The place is packed, probably at its peak for the day, but through some miracle you find a neglected arcade machine deep in the back, blinking brilliantly. It’s some sort of Galaga rip off, with a little old-timey bomber plane shooting at silly looking ufos that shoot cartoon lightning after you. It’s shamelessly unoriginal but you find yourself enjoying it, racking up a fairly high score even as you waste more and more of your pocket change. Eventually when you reach into your jacket pocket once more, you’re surprised to find you’re completely out.

“Ah, well. Whatever.” You’re disappointed but not surprised, so you crack your knuckles and step away from the machine, stretching out your now stiff arms and back in a lazy stretch. You’re fully intending to head for the door before a pale _ something _ catches your eye and you jump, almost tripping and falling on your face as a little boy appears in front of you. 

“Oh, hey there, little guy. What’s your name?” Your knee cracks embarrassingly loud when you stoop to greet him.

_ God, I should probably exercise sometime soon. This desk job does me no favors. _

Luckily, you play it off and he hardly notices. Still, he doesn’t respond, instead pushing a little closed hand in your face. When he opens his fingers you see a stack of quarters in his palms, glimmering in the artificial light of the games. Then, with his free hand he points over your shoulder, towards the “definitely-not-Galaga” cabinet.

“You wanna play? Go ahead, I’m- oh.” He shakes his head and pushes the coins at you again, at the game with emphasis. He’s unnervingly quiet for a kid his age, with owlish eyes and hair the color of cornsilk, but he seems genuine, so you play along even though you don’t quite understand.

“Are those... for me to play with?”

He nods and you can’t help but give a thankful smile at his generosity, plucking the change from his palm and giving the coins a shake. When you feed the quarters into the machine, he pops up at your elbow, wide eyes intent on the screen. Evidently, he wants to watch, and you smile down a chuckle at the sight of him barely able to see over the edge, the controls of the cabinet barely reaching his chin. You end up playing another level, and another, and another, until you’re both out of change and back to where you started. “Well, thanks anyway, dude.” He blinks at you, expression still blank, and you shrug, ruffling his hair before making towards the exit once more. You easily cross the threshold back into the sunshine even as your eyes water in protest against the dramatic change in lighting. Reaching the opposite edge of the boardwalk you stop and lean against a lamppost, savoring the way the summer heat soaks into your skin after so long in the tepid air of the arcade. When you look behind you, you’re surprised to see the little boy from earlier standing at the entrance, watching you. After a beat, you wave at him, unsure. He doesn’t react: instead he stares for a second longer before turning and bolting, tearing down the boulevard as the sweater around his neck flaps behind him like a cape._ God, kids are weird. _

“Well. Bye, I guess.”

With that interaction over, you turn your attention back to the shimmering waves below, jamming both hands into your pockets. It’s still lovely, but the salt in the air leaves your mouth feeling dry. When you reach into your inside pocket for your chapstick, though, you find it’s totally empty- there’s not even lint or old receipts- it’s like a vacuum has cleaned it all out.

_ That’s weird. Where’d everything go? _

* * *

Just a few blocks away, Onion’s small hands skillfully chuck a fresh lip balm and wad of old receipts down the chimney at Fish Stew Pizza, straight into the opening without touching the edges. It’s a talent, really, and one he’s particularly good at.

(Not that Mister Kofi would agree.) 

* * *

You’ve only been out of the arcade for minutes before when you notice something, out at the furthest edge of the boardwalk- a crowd, all focused on what you can only guess is some sort of street performance. It’s still a long distance away though, so you climb onto the raised base of the nearest streetlight and squint, trying to make out anything beyond the vague shapes of humans clustered together and the muddled sounds of music and applause. Your eye is drawn to flashes of color; pops of pink and purple that you assume are the performers dart around, but that’s as much as you can get from where you stand. Hopping off the lamppost, you put your headphones in and shrug, fiddling with the volume as you go back to exploring the boardwalk. You’ll get there eventually. When you lick your lips you’re surprised at how dry your mouth is, and you frown as you realize the weird kid probably had something to do with your missing chapstick. 

_ Where’d he go, anyway? Little snake._

Giving your back to the street performance and its audience, you crane your neck looking for the kid- maybe you can scare him into giving it back? 

Before you can spot him, though, someone bumps into you, _ hard_. You stagger against the impact before catching yourself, arms flailing. Before you can give the person a piece of your mind though, someone else crashes into you from the opposite side, even harder. The double impact is too much and you end up pinballing between them, slamming onto your back as the two shove past you. 

Your palms smart as you push yourself into a sitting position, watching from your spot on the ground as the strangers keep racing down the boardwalk until they vanish from sight. 

Immediately after that, you see the dogs. There’s at least a half a dozen of them, all straining on a single tether, every one of their eyes rolling in blind panic as they surge down the footpath with a singular urgency. They flow around you like a river, hardly faltering in their course. 

The sight of their terror is so unnerving that you freeze halfway off the floor to stare after them, a rising dread prickling the back of your neck as you hear a rumble building behind you. You jump to your feet and twist around faster than you’d expected, getting almost dizzy with the speed, and in your haste you almost miss the huge _ thing _slowly blocking the sun. 

There’s a collective gasp from the crowd, and you can see the group start to scatter as they realize what’s about to happen. Before panic can unravel the group entirely however, the water tower tips over completely, hitting the boardwalk with an enormous hollow _ clang _that rattles the teeth in your head. Those who had been caught up in fleeing actually stop, confused by the lack of watery death coming at them, and a brave few actually start returning to the scene to investigate. That’s when the fallen tower groans, an ominous gurgling coming from the tank before the warped walls give and the entire crowd is sprayed with a few tubs worth of disgustingly stagnant water.

A tsunami it _isn’t_, but still nearly half of the crowd gets bowled over, the grimy wave spreading further out before finally dripping onto the sand below, upending trash cans and food carts its wake. It’s over almost comically fast; as you stand there in disbelief watching the aftermath unfold, the final trickle of water runs by your sneaker, still a scummy grey. Once you’re sure the worst of it is over you bite your lip and start gingerly picking your way to the drenched end of the boardwalk where audience members are still picking themselves off the ground, wringing water out of their clothes and mourning over fried electronics.

You help a young woman to her feet and once she seems stable enough you move on, helping an older couple right their ice cream stand before spotting the performers from earlier. They’re all dressed a bit odd, so you assume it’s some sort of troupe- a very _ eclectic _troupe you’d say, if the purple woman in the white wig is any indication. She’s pushing a kiddie ride back upright and at the same time talking to a poker-faced performer in tacky sunglasses with an afro that nearly swallows her shoulders, the coils of which sway with motion as she single-handedly steadies a tipped dumpster. As she does, you can see the hard line of her biceps through her skintight spandex outfit.

_ ...Wow. Alright. _

Everyone else seems to be taken care of, is being helped to their feet or given first aid, and you almost convince yourself you’re overstaying your welcome before you notice someone hiding just out of sight. Trying to, anyway. It’s the pink dancer from earlier, standing to the side with her face in her hands. When you step closer, daring to get a better look, you hear her let out a shaky sob, quiet enough you almost think you misheard. Then she does it again, and again, until she falls into quiet weeping, slouching against the hideous stucco wall like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. It makes your stomach twist with sympathy and you act on impulse; as carefully as possible you pull off your jacket and drape it over her, smoothing it over the curve of her shoulders. 

She goes still when the fabric settles onto her, a total deer-in-the-headlights expression flickering across her face before her eyes venture to meet your own. 

“Are you okay?”

She ignores your question and frowns in confusion, pinching the fabric between forefinger and thumb before shooting you a nervous look. “Wh-What’s this for?”

“...the cold? You’re soaking wet.” 

“Oh.” 

The silence between you is leaden, impenetrably thick; you think she’s just awkward, maybe waiting for you to leave, but when you motion to take your jacket back she backs out of your reach, thinly veiled panic in her eyes. 

“I’m still cold,” she blurts, shifting uneasily. She looks miserable and her pigtails droop under the weight of the accumulated water. Not wanting to stress her out further, you smile and drop your hands, making a show of moving a few inches back before catching her eyes in what you can only hope is an encouraging way.

“Alright, alright. Don’t sweat it, okay?”

With that, she perks up slightly, arms crossing to grab at the edges of your coat and pull it tighter over herself. She bites her lip and hesitates before speaking, unsure. 

“Why’re-”

A sharp scream cuts her off and you both jump at the sound, the way it splits the summer air like lightning. When you turn, you see a woman frantically unbuckling an infant from a stroller. It isn’t until the stroller dips and shakes in place that you see the cause for panic- a few of the older planks of the boardwalk can’t handle the strain of the water tower collapse and are crumbling in spots. Heart thumping, you run to her and join another bystander in prying it loose. After a few minutes of wiggling, it pops free. Before you can go back to the crying girl from earlier a hand taps your shoulder and you find yourself roped into another part of the clean up effort, then another and another and _ another_, until the warmth of the day has given in to the cool of night. 

Despite the initial fear, the rest of the day turns out to be quite the adventure- you’re more than happy to help with the cleanup, and the volunteers get free pizza. By the time the cleanup is finished, it’s nearly 7:30, and your shoes are soaked from the spillage and your arms throb from all the lifting. It’s a satisfying feeling, even when your legs join in on the soreness. When you finally make the drive back to your apartment almost an hour later, you’re shocked at how cold it’s become on the ride back. Twirling your keys around your finger as you slide off the seat, you reach into the covered basket on your scooter for your jacket, anticipating its warmth-

Your fingers hit empty air, and when you push further in your hand comes up empty. Then you remember: the crying girl, you lending her your jacket, being pulled away to help- you never went back. 

You jacket is still there.

_ Oh, damn. _


	2. Chapter 2

** _(June 25th, 10:00 PM)_ **

It takes you almost a week to make it back to Beach City, all things considered. The morning after the water tower incident you’re slammed by a massive commission- nearly 50 pages of thesis material, all paid for in advance by a college student that sounds like they’re moments away from a caffeine-induced stroke. You accept the offer and spend the next four days hammering it out, totally immersed in smoothing sentence structure and correcting citations. When you finally come up for air, it’s Thursday afternoon and your eyes hurt from the strain of reading and re-reading digital text. You don’t want to do the laundry and the dishes are intimidating in their grime, so you decide to do something outside of the apartment; namely, get your jacket back. It’s your nice one, an pitch-black silk bomber, and you’re not about to dish out 60$ for a replacement. With that price tag on your mind, you sling one leg over your bike and rev the engine, pulling onto the road so fast you almost leave tire tracks in your wake. 

The search for a parking space and the combined hunt for directions is more time-consuming than you expect. You don’t know the girls’ name, address or even if she’s from around here, and pretty soon you’re reduced to asking strangers on the street. It isn’t until you mention the purple woman that you make some progress; the nice young lady at the pizza parlor points towards the lighthouse at the end of the dock and tells you they all live at the base of the hill. The walk there is painfully slow, especially once sand starts seeping in the seams of your shoes. Once you actually start to make it past the curve of the hill you’re surprised to see signs of life- there’s a kid sitting there in a cheap foldaway chair, idly plucking notes from the acoustic guitar balanced in his lap. You watch him for a moment, listening to the chords: they’re a nice distraction from the coming awkwardness of introducing yourself to yet another stranger. When he pauses you take the chance and clear your throat, not wanting to startle him. 

“Hi?” 

He turns at your voice and smiles, already putting the guitar down to greet you. 

“Oh, hi! I’m Steven. Have we... met before?” 

When you tell him your name, he nods before pausing, studying your face with an interest that almost makes you nervous. “...Hey, were you here last week?” 

“Yeah,” you say, pleasantly surprised he seems to remember. “I was just here to explore but got roped into cleanup detail after the... you _know,_” you finish lamely, waving a hand. You still feel a bit weird approaching this teen alone on the beach, like some kind of creep or criminal, but he has the look of someone who knows his way around town- a local for sure. 

Once you’ve finished explaining he has the decency to look embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down. “Yeah, sorry about that. Amethyst gets carried away sometimes.” 

You have no idea how to react to that but force a bland smile anyway, trying to be polite in case he actually can help you find your lost coat. The truth is you have no idea who this ‘Amethyst’ character is, or how they could’ve taken down an entire water tower alone; Nor do you really want to, either. After a beat, you clear your throat and catch his eye again, breaking the awkward silence. 

“I’m not here about _ that_, actually. I was fine. I, um, left my bomber behind though? My jacket?”

“Oh, yeah! A lot of people’s stuff got thrown around last week- I’d say check with Mister Smiley, or Kofi... or _ Onion_, maybe. If you’re lucky.”

“No, no, I mean, I think one of your...” 

_ Sisters? Aunts? _ ** _Moms_**_? _

“...friends has it.” 

“_Nnnnno, _sorry." But when you describe it- the silver zipper, embroidered back and blue stitching- he makes an excited noise and darts further down the shore, waving for you to follow along. “Come on!”

You pick up your heels and chase after him, cursing the hot grit that pours into your socks as you trail behind. The sun is relentless here, magnified by the glimmering expanse of sand, and it feels like you’ve hardly made any progress before you run out of breath. When you round the corner, huffing like a train, you see there’s a bungalow, partially built into the sheer cliff. It’s charming in a homey way and the pale wood of the walls nearly blends into the golden sand below, seamless enough that it all looks like one miraculous sand castle hidden away from the world.

As you both draw nearer to the little house, you start to pick out details- there are definitely a couple people on the porch, vivid in their contrast to the pale yellow around them. After a beat, you realize one of them is _ her_, the girl from before, and in some perfect coincidence of timing you realize she’s wearing the very coat you’re here for. She’s got both arms through the sleeves and has them rolled up to the elbow, making her look a little like a punk Strawberry Shortcake. It’s clearly your jacket, there’s no doubt about that but she wears it with such an unassailable confidence you find yourself starting to doubt your own claim. She’s in the middle of a conversation with the purple chick from before, animatedly gesturing as she speaks. After a moment, she falls silent, jamming her hands in the pockets (YOUR pockets, you have to remind yourself) and leaning against the railing. As you draw closer to the house you slow to an amble, not wanting to intrude on the pair. It’s awkward enough that you almost consider abandoning the search, just cut your losses and jump ship, pretend you’d never come back- but Steven darts past you and waves them down while you plod behind, trying to will yourself invisible. 

Before you even make it up the stairs to the porch you can feel the eyes on you, sizing you up. Purple lazily regards you from her position seated on the floor idly watching you through long lashes. As you reach the steps, she flops backwards and closes her eyes, apparently already checked out of the conversation. She reminds you of a cat, bathing in the warm sunshine regardless of the activity going on around her. Pink chick (you’ll have to find out her name soon enough, this is getting weird) stares at you unblinkingly, expression wary as she waits for you to speak- the rush of unwanted attention reminds you of childhood stage fright, and your tongue feels leaden in your mouth as you scramble to collect your thoughts.

“Um... My jacket? I’m here to take it back.”

With a cackle of laughter, Purple pries herself off the porch and pushes herself to her feet, a delighted grin stretching her face as she weaves between the three of you. “Oooo, tough luck, El! You know the rules.” She takes a few steps towards the door before stopping and rushing back to you, one hand pulling hard on your shoulder as she makes a show of stage-whispering in your ear. “Don’t sweat it, okay? You’ll be _ fine._” And with that, she’s gone, snickering to herself as she pushes open the front door of the house and slips off to whatever lies behind what looks like an enormous stone slab at the far end of the kitchen.

Now it’s just the three of you in total silence on the porch, with the sun rapidly retreating behind a thick bank of (admittedly lovely) clouds. Pink chick crosses her arms, taps her foot- does anything and everything but look at you. Steven nudges her in the side and raises his eyebrows, shooting her an encouraging look. She gives you a fast once-over, then rolls her eyes and slouches against the doorframe- she’s obviously unimpressed by whatever she sees, and you wrestle with a silly stab of childish disappointment at her non-reaction. Why does it bother you so much? 

Before you can open your mouth Steven, bless him, catches her elbow and clears his throat, very deliberately tipping his head in your direction again. No one’s saying anything out loud, not since you first asked, but you can just _ feel _ the silent conversation playing out between them. There’s obviously something else going on below, an issue running deeper then just your jacket, but you’re not involved enough with either of them to understand any of it, as intense as it looks. You’re so invested in unraveling the mystery of what’s being said you forget you’re staring, eyes darting from him to her and back. For her awful attitude, Pink -that’s what you’re calling her now, why not, it’s what she is after all- just looks _ tired_, shoulders tense and expression hard in a way that doesn’t seem to fit her heart-shaped face.

After a long moment, she looks away and skulks off, slamming the screen door so hard the frame rattles dangerously. From inside, you can hear another slam, followed by the distinct sound of a lock clicking shut. Giving you an apologetic grin, Steven follows after her, taking your hand to encourage you to follow him into the tiny house. Against your better judgment you follow closely behind him, trying very hard not to look to hard at anything, let alone acknowledge the argument you can feel brewing on the horizon. It’s nearly palpable, a heavy tension in the air that makes you feel almost trapped even as sweet ocean air blows through the screen door behind you. 

“Spinel, come on, she was just trying to be nice!”

_ Spinel, huh? _

You think of Purple on the porch, the name she’d used. 

_ El. Makes sense, I guess. _

Steven is still holding your hand as he calls after her, knocking gently at the door of what you can only assume is the bathroom of the house. His grip is cooler than you’d expected, strangely so- but his hold on you is so firm he’s almost making your hand sweat. Before you can pull away or ask him to relax, something comes at you _ fast_, a streak of darkness: before you can duck it wraps itself around you head, soft and smothering. You can’t help the muffled screech that leaves you, as embarrassing as it sounds. It isn’t until you’ve pulled it off your face with both hands that you look down and catch sight of the silver edge of a zipper that you understand- It’s your coat, balled up impossibly small, very deliberately wadded into a fraction of its original size. For some reason, it’s the _ thought _ of Spinel doing it, the mental image of her wadding up your jacket specifically to fling in your face that breaks through the lingering awkwardness and ignites the first flickers of anger inside you. Shaking your coat out, you drape it over one arm and wave Steven’s stilted apologies away, making for the door even as anger burns twin flames in your cheeks. “Look, Steven- whatever. It’s fine. You didn’t even do anything wrong. Thanks for the help and good luck-” you raise your voice until you’re practically shouting, loud enough to hear through the door “-with that... _ pink idiot _in your bathroom!” 

With that, you slam the door behind you and storm off, not bothering to slow down even as the hot sand threatens to upset your balance. 

At least you got your jacket back. 

* * *

Back at the house, it’s silent. Steven is slouched at the kitchen counter with his head in his arms, a pile of dark curls perfectly still save for the measured back and forth of one foot. It isn’t until he hears the click of the bathroom lock that he finally moves, and even then it’s not much- just kicking his free leg out to slide the other stool closer to the new person in the room. 

The shame that precedes Spinel into the kitchen is almost solid, a wet blanket that hungrily drapes itself over the room, and even without turning his head he can feel her inching over to the bench opposite him, posture unnatural in its stiffness, and every step is accompanied by the distinct sound of her arms literally dragging across the floor. When she finally takes a (slow, hesitant) seat beside him he finally picks his head up and looks at her, a knit in his brow as he finally meets her eyes. 

“Spinel-”

“...I messed up, didn’t I?”

Although it was only a single sentence (and less then half a dozen words at that) Steven could feel a wealth of meaning behind it. Even as her voice faded into silence he could feel the way her emotions ran just below the surface, underscored by the same old pain. Averting his eyes, he sighs, trying to phrase the situation as neutrally as possible without sacrificing his usual honesty. “You really upset someone who just trying to help.” When he chances a look at her, he finds her expression is pained. With an audible thud she rests her head on the marble, letting out a miserable groan as her fingers tangle into one of her buns and _ twist,_ the strands of hair digging so deep into her hands they look in danger of breaking skin. Pressing up the table like she is, her voice is muffled and barely audible over the hum of the fridge and murmur of the waves but Steven manages to pick up her words regardless. 

“What’m I going to do _ now_?”

“Hey, _ hey_.” 

“I _ know,_ I just- I thought-” 

The words catch in her throat and she freezes, blinking hard until her thoughts get unstuck and she presses on, everything pouring out in one massive rush.

“-I thought it was a gift! Y’know, like you’re always talking about, and I was so so _so_ happy because it was the first nice thing from someone new, someone I didn’t have to apologize to for trying to kill or reset or... or...” 

Voice cracking, she slips her hands into her lap and stares at them intensely as if the perfect explanation is hidden somewhere on her gloves, just out of sight. When she speaks again, it’s an almost inaudible whisper, coming from deep inside her. 

“I thought that was how friends work.” 

“Spinel...” 

At the sound of Steven’s voice, she jumps, eyes wide and wet with fear. They’re close enough that he can see her shoulders tensing as if she’s steeling for some unavoidable blow, watches the way her fingers curl into shaky fists. 

Something in him aches at the sight of her like this, at the misery and doubt in her eyes, and he takes one of her hands in his own. 

“This doesn’t mean you’ll never be friends with them, or with _ anyone_. Sometimes people make mistakes, and maybe those mistakes hurt! It’s happened before. I... I’ve been there. But it’s never too late to try again, to do things differently. I _ mean _ it.” Seeing her expression, he pauses, carefully choosing his words. “I can go with you if you like- be your sidekick!” 

The laugh she gives is weak, hardly a soft flutter of sound but it’s still genuine, and Steven smiles at the sound, giving her hand an encouraging squeeze. 

“I understand... It’s hard, I know. You just want to run and hide, hope no one ever says anything about it, but that never works. You can do this. You _ can_. So, what do you say? Ready to try again?” 

The change is immediate: Spinels gaze skitters away and she drops Stevens hand like it’s burned her, crossing her arms defensively.

“...I don’t know.”

Steven sighs, stiffly climbing to his feet and stretching before regarding Spinel once more. 

“I _ can _ help you, if you want it.” 

In one last attempt, he offers her his hand and flashes her an encouraging smile. “So, what do you say?” When she tentatively reaches for his hand, he stops her, eyes shining with a kind mischief. “...It’ll cost you a trip to the Big Donut, though.”

Spinel lets out another laugh at that, warmer this time, and grabs Steven’s hand firmly in an enthusiastic handshake.

“You drive a tough bargain, Mister Universe. But... I’m in.”


	3. Chapter 3

_ **(July 8th, 10:00 PM)** _

It’s 10:00pm. 

It’s 10:00pm and you’re eating cereal out of a bowl, _ stale _ cereal made all the worse because you’re also out of milk, meaning there’s almost nothing to overpower the awful taste. The entire thing just goes to ash on your tongue but you grit your teeth and power through it anyway, cursing your luck as you scarf it down in as few bites as possible. It’s the last thing that you have to eat in your apartment, and you’re gonna eat it because there’s no way you’re going back _ there _ for groceries. It’s been nearly two weeks since the stupid thing in Beach City (the Incident, as you’ve taken to calling it in private, like it’s an international catastrophe) and while you’re mostly over it, your pride has one last holdout- you don’t want to show your face there, ever again. From your limited knowledge you’ve figured out that Steven and his eccentric family are local celebrities, and who knows how that influence has been wielded against you since then. For all you know, the entire town is holding hands around an effigy of you singing and cheering a la _ Wicker Man. _

_ Though, probably not. _

Ironically, that same stubborn streak means you’re not interested in wasting extra cash on the exact same groceries in Apple City. So that leaves you here, eating breakfast at night and hating it, hating yourself for your stubborn streak and hating the inflated prices of Apple City. You’re halfway through your second helping when something in you _ snaps _, and before can stop yourself, you sweep the bowl into the sink and chuck the still-open box into the trash can with a little more force than necessary. With the last food in your house rendered inedible (at least more so anyway), an unpleasant thought enters your head. 

_ I’m definitely going to have to go food shopping tomorrow. _

And with that, accompanied only by the bland flavor of stale cheerios lingering on your tongue, you wash up and crawl into bed, trying not to think of what tomorrow will bring.

Walking into the only grocery store in Beach City the next day has all the feeling of walking into a crime scene- you tiptoe down aisles and skirt the other shoppers, making as little eye contact as possible as you scurry around filling your cart. It doesn’t seem like anyone remembers you or even acknowledges you _ (seems rude, but okay I guess_), but you keep up the act anyway, unsure if this is just a normal day or just the calm before the storm. You ignore the voices of the people around you and keep your eyes focused instead on the paper checklist you’re keeping tucked in your pocket, dedicating your entire being to the slow methodical ticking off each item one by one. 

It isn’t until you reach the last item on the list that you allow yourself to finally relax, a smile curling across your lips as you turn towards the final aisle. 

_ Just one more thing, and I can blow this popsicle stand. _

* * *

The whole thing starts rather innocently. 

Amethyst admits she’s never had a fancy meal and Steven being Steven decides she just hasn’t had the right _ kind _ of fancy food, and decides to serve her the best meal ever, on his allowance of course. After looking into the menus of every eatery in town, he decides to make the meal himself, and now the entire group is here, hunting fine dining ingredients at 10am on a Wednesday. Garnet is sent to search for the perfect produce, Pearl and Amethyst head to the seafood section (with express directions for Amethyst to pick whatever she likes), and Steven, with Greg’s help, scans through the pasta aisle, comparing. 

It’s after the fifth box of penne that Steven pauses, going still before his good mood simply collapses, replaced by a tense silence.

After a beat Greg comes up behind him, putting a weathered hand on his sons’ shoulder. 

“Stu-ball? You alright there?” 

“Dad...” Steven fiddles with the pasta box before turning to face his father, gently pressing the container back onto the shelf with a deliberate slowness that betrays the turmoil in his head. “I’m worried about Spinel.” 

“Why? I thought... _ things _ were getting better with her.” 

“They were, but... a few weeks ago she reacted really badly to meeting someone new. She didn’t want to talk, she _ threw _ things at them-“ 

“Woah, woah. Did you say _ threw things _?”

“...yeah.” Almost subconsciously Steven’s hand rubs the back of his neck, a nervous tell he’s had since childhood. “Just clothes though. Nothing, you know... solid.” 

“Still, that seems pretty intense. Have you talked about it with her?”

“We talked about it. She seemed embarrassed. Apparently she’d thought the stuff they’d left behind, after the flood, was for her- especially this one bomber jacket she really liked- it had, like, a wreath of flowers on the back she loved; she just didn’t want to give it back. That’s mostly what the argument was about. I haven’t seen them since, and I want her to apologize. I’m just worried, is all.” 

“Steven... you know this isn’t your fault, right? Sometimes people, gems included, mess up.” 

“I know, I know. I don’t know if Spinel would even want to talk to them again, or if they’re ever coming back to Beach City. I just want to fix it. That’s me... Steven, the little fixer.” With a sigh, he leaned against the shelves and closed his eyes, crossing his arms tightly. 

“Come on, kiddo. You’re not the maid around here- it shouldn’t always be up to you to clean up everyone messes and make them happy.” When Steven doesn’t react, Greg pushes on, hoping he won’t talk himself into a corner. “You know what? I’d bet that by the end of the week, she’ll be back to her normal self. Leaving the diamonds so soon after moving in, just to come back to Earth all over again... it has to be a big change, you know? She’s gotta be feeling a little vulnerable. Even if you never get to clear the air with that other guy, I think you did a great job talking her through it.” 

“You think so?” 

“I sure do, little dude. You being honest with her is probably the best thing for her right now... whether she appreciated it or not. It’ll all work out eventually.” 

“I guess.” After a moment Steven shrugs and smiles, pulling another box from the shelves and scanning the label, reading the description quickly before flipping the container over and handing it to Greg.

“What do you think?” 

Almost 30 minutes later Greg and Steven are wandering the dessert section, discussing the merits of cake versus pie when Greg pauses mid-conversation, the squeaking patter of his flip-flops dying out as he stops at the edge of the shelves, eyes fixed on something over Steven’s head in the cereal aisle. 

“Hey, uh, Steven? What’s this person from before look like?”

Steven, comparing brands of pie filling with types of cake batter, doesn’t bother turning around, squinting intensely at the package as he seriously weighs the pros and cons of blueberry cobbler versus vanilla funfetti. 

“What? Oh, yeah, them.”

As Steven starts to speak his hands pull jars of frosting from the shelves and dump them in his cart, moving quickly as he tells Greg about you. His voice wavers a bit when he gets to the last expression he saw on your face; that hurt, angry glower, but he regains his composure as he pulls away from the frostings and drifts to the sprinkles, regarding them with the same gravitas as the frosting before. After a few minutes, he tosses one last container of toppings into the (frankly, overburdened) shopping cart and puts his hands on his hips, giving Greg a confused look. “...Why are you asking?”

“So... um...” Greg's’ gaze barely lands on Steven before darting away again, drawn back to the sight one aisle over as he tries to subtly point at something just out of sight. “...they look like _ that_?” 

“_What_!?” 

Sure enough, _ you’re _ there, kneeling by the cereal display as you try (unsuccessfully) to pry the last box free from the very back of the bottom shelf. Hearing the distress in his voice, Pearl pokes her head around the corner, (appearing nose first of course) brows knitting with concern as she rushes to his side, apparently unbothered by the weight of Amethyst slung over one shoulder. As she makes her way to Steven, a steady drip of water follows her, the runoff sparkling like diamonds in the harsh overhead lights.

“Steven! Is something wrong?” 

“Pearl! I need your help, where’s- wait, why are you wet?” 

She lets out a huff and rolls her eyes, shifting her weight from one leg to the other and jerking a thumb at the gem draping herself over her shoulder. Sensing the gesture, Amethyst twists to face him, round eyes meeting his own from under Pearl's arm. Her hair is a thick whorl of saltwater, leaking carelessly on Pearl's starched shoulder. "Hey dude."

“Amethyst was chasing the lobsters again. I fished her out of their tank.”

“Uh... okay. Listen, where’s Spinel- have you seen her?”

“I don’t know... she must’ve wandered off while I was babysitting Amethyst.”

“Can you help me find her? I don’t want her seeing... someone here.” 

“Well... okay. I- _ we’ll-” _ She hefts Amethyst off her shoulder and raises her eyebrows at her, daring her to complain-" _We’ll _ start looking for her down the aisles.” With that, they both walk out the aisle the way they came, Pearl's irritation breaking as Amethyst whispers something into her ear with a smile. 

As the two vanish around the corner Garnet appears, striding down the aisle with a cool confidence entirely unhampered by the loaf of bread and gallon of milk stacked on her head. Wordlessly, she slides the loaf and carton into Steven’s cart before facing him, a faint smile on her face as she faces him. Without warning she puts her hands on his shoulders and spins him around, making sure his eyes are drawn to the scene unfolding before him before starting to speak. 

“Steven, look.”

The next few seconds come together like one big cosmic joke: Spinel rounds the corner, staring raptly at the dazzling array of cereals, one long arm arm weaving through a long train of carts. She’s walking down the same aisle as you, unwavering, and even as her foot swings towards your bent leg neither gives any reaction. It isn’t until Steven gasps and covers his eyes (only to peep through his fingers) that the two of you make impact; her shoe catches against the side of your waist and hooks there, sending her sprawling as you jump at the contact and end up cracking your head on the shelf above you. The force makes the entire unit shake, sending a rain of boxes onto you, Spinel and the floor alike. 

Steven tenses, obviously ready to intervene- yet Garnet holds his shoulder and shakes her head, tilting her head at the pair to encourage Steven to watch. 

“Don’t worry. This’ll be good for them.” 

When he hesitates she taps the side of her shades (future vision!) and smiles, ruffling his hair. 

“I _ promise_.” 

* * *

Your combination of both stubbornness and optimism is going to be the death of you. 

Because the cereal aisle is the last location you need to get all your groceries and finallyget out of here you’re relaxed enough -_and _ dumb enough, apparently- to imagine you'll be done soon. 

You won't. 

Firstly, you can’t find the cereal you’re looking for, so you waste time marching up and down the aisle, feeling unfairly spotlit under the white of the fluorescent lights. It isn’t until you bend down on a whim and start scanning the lowest levels of the shelves that you make progress: the final box of your favorite cereal, crammed hard to the back of the shelf. It’s dented on one side, with one corner crushed flat, the thin material of the box peeling to reveal the brown of the paper beneath. It honestly looks awful, but beggars can’t be choosers, so you get on your knees and find your grip, pulling carefully to avoid destroying the container further. The box shifts when you grab it, sliding unevenly over the metal of the rack before it just... stops, caught on something too far back to see. You pull again, testing the resistance, but the thing doesn’t budge. Feeling around blindly you’re rewarded with insight into the problem- your fingers bump against the bottom of the box, finding it tightly wedged in a gap at the very back of the shelving. 

_ Of course. _ ** _Of course_.**

Gritting your teeth, you inhaling a slow breath through your nose before squaring your shoulders and lowering your head into the dark space, ignoring the smell of dust that rushes up to greet you as you do so. Your fingernails gouge tiny divots in the cereal box as you work to wiggle it free one corner at a time, and it isn’t until your arms start to ache from the continuous side-to-side motion you’re doing that one corner finally pops free, accompanied by the cringe-worthy crunch of your snack being utterly _ obliterated _ inside the packaging. The noise is awful but you’re nothing if not determined now, so you bite your tongue and very, _ very _, carefully steady your grip, starting in on the last corner with a couple hard pulls before something interrupts you. 

That something is a foot, swung perfectly to catch you just behind the ribs, knocking the breath from you so thoroughly you almost worry your lungs might follow suit. The force of the impact lurches you to the side, hard enough that the box pops free, but as you go to crawl back out, a weight presses into the small of your back for a moment and pins you in place before pulling away entirely. Panic lances through you, far beyond the typical annoyance of strangers bumping you in public and you instinctively try to stand to catch your breath; it isn’t until a cold pain at the base of your skull and a rattling _ thud _ catch your attention that you remember you’re still kneeling under the shelf, palms filthy with grime from when the shelf knocked you back down. As you struggle to remember how to breathe, (vaguely at best) something hard glances off the back of your leg. It takes you a moment to recognize the item as a cereal box before another crashes into your back, followed by another and _ another _ until they rain down on you, leaving tiny corner-shaped welts where they strike on your hips and back. You wait until the avalanche is over before slowly crawling out in reverse, painfully aware of the stunned silence now hanging over the store. You don’t think you can look up without wanting to die yet, so you turn your attention to the only thing that seems safe- the frayed box clenched in your hand as you stand on shaking legs and place an unsteady hand on the handle of your cart. It isn’t until you hear the boxes shift behind you that the idea you’re not alone enters your mind; you whirl around with a mouth full of half-formed apologies when something stops you- pink eyes in a heart-shaped face, framed by pink pigtails. 

Your heart leaps into your throat, squeezing with suppressed anger and repressed pity. It’s _her_.

She looks at you, equally wordless, and you look at her looking at you, before swallowing hard and turning on your heel before either of you break the uncomfortable silence. 

You don’t _ need _ this right now. You don’t want this. Without a word you start shoving your rickety cart towards the register, wanting this encounter over as soon as possible, ignoring the way the wheels squeak with the pressure you’re putting on them. It’s almost out of the aisle (and so are you, by extension) entirely when a hand lands on your shoulder, almost making you jump with the sudden contact. 

“Don’t go! Just, just hold on a sec-” 

When you turn back she’s standing amongst the boxes, literally wringing her hands as she speaks, choosing her words with deliberate care. 

_ How did she even reach me from there? Did she grab me and run back? _

“Listen... I know we got off on the wrong foot before. Maybe we can try again, y’know? I’m Spinel.” 

With that, she untangles one hand from the other and offers it to you, oddly timid as you critically eye her peace offering. Part of you wants to keep her in suspense, to let her squirm and grovel a little more, but as you consider the idea you see her shoulders start to sag, her hand falling slowly. Pity seizes your heart at her crestfallen expression, and you nearly trip over yourself to grab her hand and shake it, the first true smile of the day gracing your features as you finally meet her eyes.

“I know we’ve already met, but... It’s nice to meet you, Spinel.”

(A few aisles away, you think you hear cheering.)


	4. Chapter 4

_ **(July 9th, 11:45 AM)** _

It takes a while for the remaining ice to thaw between the two of you and the conversation to flow easier, but once it does you’re surprised to see Steven pop up, having _ coincidentally _ been shopping just one aisle over_. _ The rest of his strange family comes soon after, still in their showy circus(?) outfits, ( _ Did that one bedazzle her forehead? _ ** _Really_**_? _ ) but they seem genuine enough and the way they all dote on Steven brings a smile to your face you can’t fight. Against your original judgements, you find yourself charmed by them enough to stick around, laughing together over the sorry state of your battered cereal. Maybe you’re just overemotional, like the residual loneliness and stale foods of the previous weeks is eroding your judgement, but the conversation seems to nurture some long-neglected part of you and you’re surprised with how eager you are to keep the discussion going. As the shopping trip wears on, though, you gradually start to realize something- you hadn’t really noticed it earlier, distracted as you were by showdowns over stolen clothes and trashed cereals but now that the grocery meetup has gone on for sometime you catch on to how _ engaging _ Steven is. Despite his age he manages to keep the conversation going in a way you can hardly keep up with, encouraging the flow of words as easy as breathing. His weird aunts pepper in commentary now and then- while it seems like they don’t go out of their way to make many friends they’re open _ enough _; engaging with you warmly, if not familiarly, and you appreciate the effort they’re putting in nonetheless. At first you’re comfortable enough but you eventually become aware of Spinel hanging back with a stiff expression. Every time you look at her, she’s fidgeting in one way or another: her hands run through her hair, her fingers twist together, her hands burrow into her pockets. Once you catch her eye she looks away, eyes going wide to stare at nothing and no one in particular. Steven follows your gaze and frowns at Spinel’s reaction but before he can say anything, a spark of inspiration seizes you and you squeeze past him with a smile, approaching her life she’s a particularly skittish deer. 

“Hey, Spinel?”

She’s still looking away, arms stiff at her sides, but at the sound of your voice she jumps and you can see her shoulders tense. You can tell her curiosity is piqued, but she’s nervous; instead, she hazards a sideways glance at you through dark lashes. It’s unbelievably cute but you swallow the resulting giggle anyway, not wanting to spook her. “Can you help me...” your eyes dart around the store, trying to find a suitable excuse, before landing on a massive pickle jar on a high shelf. “...get that jar?”

After a moment, she pivots to face you, the first touches of a smile beginning to grace her face. Steven makes a delighted squeak at her expression, elbowing her with a goofy grin. When you wiggle your eyebrows at her in an attempt to lighten the mood, the ice breaks and her expression softens, pulling closer with a theatrical bow. 

“What can I do ya for, m’lady?” She’s using a faux-posh accent and you can’t fight the next laugh that leaves your mouth. “Of course, of course,” you say, holding your baskets out in mock curtsy. “One pickle jar, please!” 

“Say no more, your majesty!” She twirls on the spot and thrusts her arm out. Before you can tell her it’s over there -nowhere near where you’re all standing- her arm _ stretches, _ extends beyond any human capacity before reaching one of the huge jars. Before your mind can even grasp the way she’s moving, her hand grows to double, no, _ triple _its size and scoops the jar, shovellike, before slinking it’s way back to you and pressing the container into your hands. After you take it, her arm retracts, shrinking back to its normal size.

You can’t help it- You stare. The glass of the jar lies cool and still under your hands, its weight solid in a way that should ground you but _ doesn’t _ , because _ good god what was that_. Speaking again your voice is quiet and unsure, just the tiniest bit breathless. “...what?”

Spinel freezes, insecurity creeping back across her expression. Almost subconsciously her arms twist around each other, over and over, their interlocking shape forming a helix of anxiety. Sensing your confusion, Steven forces out a laugh and claps his hands expectantly, smiling nervously in an attempt to restore the suddenly uncomfortable mood. 

“Wow, Spinel! Thanks!” 

It took you a moment to realize that everyone’s looking at you, waiting for your response- but it’s the look on Spinel’s face that drives your next words so carefully. “Sorry... I’ve just never seen anyone do something like that before. How did you do it?” 

Everyone but Steven looks away at that, pretending to occupy themselves with anything else; Garnet stoically adjusts her sunglasses, Pearl suddenly immerses herself in the nutritional information of a box of crackers while Amethyst furiously wrings out her damp hair and Spinel intensely inspects her shoes. Unlike everyone else, however, Steven seems thrilled and shoots you an enthusiastic grin, standing up straight and squaring his shoulders with obvious flair. 

“We’re the _ Crystal Gems _!”

That obviously means something, but you can’t understand what so you simply nod, hoping your vacant expression speaks for itself without being rude. 

“You know, THE Crystal Gems? Saviors of humanity, saved the earth... what was it, guys, last year?”

“Four months,” Garnet offers.

“Yeah, exactly. It’s no biggie though.”

“Steven...” Pearl leans towards him, her long face pinched with serious concern. “Are you sure we should be telling them this? I understand wanting to be honest with the people of Beach City, but... they’re not from around here, and that makes them a loose end, frankly speaking-”

“Yo, don’t worry. I got you, P.” There’s a crackling noise, followed by the faint scent of ozone, and when you turn back towards Amethyst you see she’s brandishing what looks like a nasty studded whip around one arm, a look of purpose in her eyes. The confidence in her motions look almost out of character for her but before you can comment on the sudden weapon Garnet steps in, putting one hand on Amethyst’s shoulder.

“Don’t. They were going to find out anyway.”

“I was just gonna spook ‘em,” she pouts, and as you watch the whip she was wielding disintegrates into dots of light, which die out like embers against the bland store tile. When you look closer at the checkered floor there’s no trace left as if it never existed at all. 

_ Don’t know if I like that. _

“Let’s not go crazy,” Steven interjects, one hand resting on your forearm in a comforting gesture. Even though he’s just a kid, when his hand touches you feel yourself calming; Your breathing settles at the contact even though you can’t really recall when it became so choppy in the first place. Taking advantage of your new balance, you struggle to break the awkwardness surrounding the group.

“So... you’re all, like, magic?”

“Yeah, that’s... right.” Steven seems a little less enthusiastic about the proclamation now; perhaps Pearl’s concern is getting to him or Amethyst’s overreaction is stressing him out. 

_ Does it even matter? He seems upset. _

Trying to lighten the mood, you fish around for a suitable comment, eventually throwing out one that might salvage the conversation. 

“That was amazing. What else can you do?”

Spinel, still inspecting her shoe, visibly perks up at the words. You smile at her, and after a moment she smiles back and things don’t feel so wrong any more. Amethyst notices, though, and catches your eye before wiggling her eyebrows at you, looking like the cat that caught the canary. Her expression is so ridiculous in the still-thawing silence that you laugh again, and that seems to break the spell; Steven joins in and the conversation eases back into motion as if it’d never stopped. You actually end up helping each other shop; he isn’t sure about sides (you recommend mashed potatoes because _ duh _ ) and he helps you pick out the perfect fruit for a smoothie breakfast you’ve been thinking about. The awkwardness of seeing magic up close -of _ meeting _ it up close- has mostly fallen away by the time you reach the register, and you end up sharing a few laughs with them; genuine, _ real _things leave you grinning stupidly. It’s not just the joys of casual conversation that fuels your enthusiasm, no; instead it’s also a relief at being accepted, no longer potentially the next town pariah. Even as you breathe a sigh of relief though, you still can’t help but notice Spinel putting in more effort than the others to interact with you and you can’t help but blush, unused to such attention- is your approval really that important to her? Her stream of eager slapstick and clever zingers, while enjoyable, is occasionally broken by a flicker of doubt that you nearly trip over yourself to erase. 

It isn’t until you all reach the grocery exit that the conversation dies down again; you all hesitate on the threshold, unsure of how to properly disengage without seeming rude. Sensing the shift in mood, you give a half hearted wave to the others and sidle away in search of your bike at what you hope is a brisk stride, keeping your pace brisk even as your arms start to tremble under the weight of the bags. You’re halfway there, already praying they’re not watching your rapidly-slowing hobble across the parking lot, when your foot meets something _ solid _ and the bags spill from your grasp, the awful sensation of weightlessness your only warning before gravity throws you down and there’s something like a small explosion in your knee. 

Ignoring the pain that throbs across your entire leg, you push yourself back upright with your heart still in your throat, rushing to pick up your dropped food without daring to look at Steven and the gems. You’re so busy scrambling around on your hands and knees, trying to clean up the runaway yogurt cups and spilled fruit that you don’t notice the pair of feet approaching from a distance. It isn’t until you reach for a lone orange and your hand lands on a pink boot that your focus is broken and you follow the shoe up to the leg, blinking as the face above you is framed by the setting sun. Almost silently, a hand extends from the figure, and even with your sun-blinded vision you can see the nervous shake in the arm reaching out to you. 

Vaguely, you realize it's wearing a glove.

“...Spinel?”


	5. Chapter 5

** _(September 13th, 12:30PM)_ **

Spinel isn’t quite what you’d expect, but you’re pleasantly surprised to discover you get along well- she’s expressive and sincere, charming with a touch of dry humor you wouldn’t expect from someone who’s solid pink. It’s almost strange in a way- normally you like to spend your free time reading, or visiting friends in Apple City, but since that day in the grocery store you keep finding yourself in Beach City every weekend, knuckles rapping a staccato rhythm on Steven’s front door before you even know what you’re doing. Over the summer you’ve been taking her to places of human culture (usually quirky food places) at least every other week. Last week was crepe cones and before that, cheesy frittatas. You’re planning on trying something a bit more cultural soon- after all, your first outing was to an aquarium, and it went well enough. Hopefully, she’ll be open to your suggestion of a zoo, or even a movie.

Now though, the weather is getting colder, and as you wait for the door to open you can feel the first bite of autumn snapping at your heels. Realistically speaking it’s almost never locked to begin with, but it just feels so _ wrong _ to stroll in, especially when you’re still new enough to be a novelty around the tiny beach house. When the door swings open to reveal Pearl, graceful as ever, you shuffle inside eager to be closer to the warmth radiating out of the strange tripod fireplace. You offer her a grateful smile as the heat soaks into your bones, letting it envelop you but she only gives you a perfunctory wave and smile before turning away, clicking her tongue as she reads and rereads a sheath of notes; the paper is densely filled with the fine cursive you’ve come to recognize as her handwriting. Closing the door behind you, she scoffs softly under her breath - an irritated tic of hers you’ve come to recognize - before crossing a line out, jotting down a hasty annotation and fixing her pale eyes back on you. You know she probably doesn’t mean anything by it, but you can barely suppress a flinch when her gaze lands on you once more, this time with a searching scrutiny. You trust her, sure, but for all the years she’s spent around humans she sometimes slips up, and now as her eyes scan you you’re struck by how inhuman she (and by extension _ all of them _) can look when the light hits them just right. 

Shaking off the uncomfortable realization, you try to remind yourself you can easily understand what she’s thinking right now- she’s probably wondering what you’re waiting for, perched on the couch like an obedient pet. “Is there something wrong? You normally- Oh.” 

Without elaborating, she makes her way to the magical door at the back of the house and stops before it, tipping her head so her gem is exposed to the five-point crest in the center of the entrance. After a moment the portal hums its acceptance of her presence and splits apart, breaking into pieces edged a silvery-white. You try not to stare. You don’t want to be _ that _ guest, one that ogles anything magic and asks too many questions, but the soft light of magic always, _ always _ catches your eye and you lean towards the glow despite yourself, watching breathlessly as the resulting sparks skip over the ground before melting into the floorboards.

“Spinel!” Pearl calls through the open doorway, still flicking through the notes. When there’s no response she leans further into the ruined temple, balancing on one leg while the other skims over the wooden floor in a leisurely arabesque. “Your human is here!” Seemingly satisfied she glides back to the kitchenette seats and starts adding more notes onto the full paper, the faint scratch of her pen on paper the only sound for almost a full minute. It isn’t until Spinel rushes into the room, nearly tripping over the warp pad that Pearl speaks again, radiating relief. As she crosses the room to join you, Spinel looks flustered and oddly apologetic, her wringing her gloved hands with a bruising fervor. Oblivious to the change in mood Pearl glides around the two of you stood in the living room, long legs already beelining for the temple door.

“Well, have fun you two!” 

“Thanks, Pearl. I- Wait, where are _ you _ going?” The question bursts from you in a rush, and you can’t help but wince at how invasive you must sound prying into her business only minutes after arriving- but she seems dead-set on doing _ something _ and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious. If she’s offended though, she makes no show of it, instead shuffling through the pages with practiced ease as she smiles at the question. 

“Steven said I should try poetry. I’ll admit, I haven’t been the most... _ engaged _follower of Earth poets since the war, what with the Dark Ages and all. But it’s a surprisingly rewarding hobby!” After a beat, something on the pages catches her eye and she squints, pulling the sheet so close to her nose you find yourself worrying she’ll poke a hole through it, bouncing the pen against her lip in deep thought. “That doesn’t sound right... no...” 

Her expression is so serious you almost want to laugh, but you catch yourself; whatever she’s writing looks deeply personal and you’d hate to hit a nerve. With that in mind, you very seriously erase all traces of a grin and lower your gaze as the door seals shut behind her, automatically turning towards Spinel in an effort to suppress the laughter that still threatens your resolve. 

“So, Spinel, what d’you want to do today? I was thinking about a movie, or there’s that pet shop you like- wait, what happened to _ you_?” 

Until that moment you’ve almost forgotten about the way Spinel is standing there, just out of sight, but as you finally turn to face her you can tell instantly that something’s wrong. She’s staring hard at the floor, both arms twisting around her waist in a warped version of a hug. At your words, her gaze lifts to meet your own. 

“What is it?” You whisper, placing what you hope comes across as a comforting hand on her elbow. ”Did something happen?”

Instead of answering you directly, she sighs and sidles out of your grasp, lowering her eyes again and untangling her arms from around her waist. 

“It’s not really important, y’know? I just... nevermind.”

You want to believe her, you really do, but something about the situation feels just out of reach, a breadth away from comprehension. 

_ Let’s go through this rationally. If it’s not something I did, and I haven’t heard of anything happening recently, then most likely something must have happened in the time I was coming over. How bad could it be? _

_ Wait. _

_ “Spinel! Your human is here!” _

_ Oh. _

** _Oh._ **

Swallowing thickly, you pause for a moment, trying to phrase your next question as casually as possible. 

“Is it what Pearl said?”

Her face twists like she’s smelling something putrid, and she cuts her eyes, half-shrugging in an furtive gesture. “...yup.”

“Oh... Don’t worry about it. I know she was joking, I j-”

“It’s not that.” 

The gravity in her voice startles you into silence. When she looks back at you, her eyes are serious, tinged with a deep bone-deep sadness that almost frightens you in its intensity. “I was someone’s once. It didn’t... end well. I don’t... I don’t wanna see that happen to you, too! Pearl _ knows _ that, _ her _ of all people, and it’s ** _not _ **funny that-”

“I... understand,” you stammer, even though you absolutely don’t. Spinel’s words make enough legible sense, sure, but the context behind them completely eludes you, as huge and incomprehensible as the shadow of some unknown creature. Something in your gaze overwhelms her, however, and she recoils from the sudden eye contact, turning away before crossing her arms defensively and pressing on, voice unsteady.

“Besides, I don’t want to _ have _anyone. The other gems say everyone is free to be themselves. That means humans too.”

The sincerity of the statement hits something soft in you, almost too tender to name, and you feel a goofy grin pulling the curve of your mouth as you turn the words over in your mind.

“Spinel. I know that’s how it sounds, but... I like being around you, and I’ll keep doing it! If you’ll _ have me_, that is.”

That seems to break whatever reverie she’s in, and she freezes up like a criminal caught in the act, slowly pivoting to face you again. Still smiling that dopey smile you watch as a plum-colored blush rushes up her neck and into her face, exaggerating the dark lines that outline her cheeks. ”So?” You tease, wiggling your fingers at her theatrically. “Is that a yes?”

She doesn’t say anything.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: As I've stopped working on the story, the following chapters are the organized 'leftovers' of the plot- mostly short scenes and a few action sequences. Context will be added in a few lines before each scene.

** _Context: Takes place night after the events of last chapter._ **

** _(October 5th, 2:00 AM)_ **

The nights, Spinel thinks, are a lot louder on Earth. 

Back on homeworld periods of inactivity are marked by a hush, a quiet marked by the emptiness of the walkways and hard angles of light creating long shadows. Here though, nothing seems to ever stop actually moving. Right now she’s listening to the ocean beat its ceaseless rhythm against the shore, back draped over the coffee table so her head hangs over the edge. Steven isn’t exactly subtle when he comes down the stairs, blanket draped over his shoulders, and shuffles to the sofa before speaking. 

“Spinel? What’s going on? Why are you up?” 

She doesn’t reply; instead, she continues staring out towards the sea unblinking. It isn’t until Steven stands up and steps closer, the first inklings of worry entering his expression that she speaks, voice low and serious. 

“Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“_ What _? Why?”

Swinging herself upright, Spinel pats the space beside her on the tabletop, waiting for Steven to sit beside her before speaking. “I just... Something’s _ wrong _. I thought I was doing better, but I feel worse, somehow! I though things would be better after I left the Diamonds, and it was... for a while.”

Beside her, Steven shifted quietly, taking in her words with a gravitas that was belied by his loud pink pyjamas. “Spinel... what happened.”

“**I. DON’T. ** ** _KNOW_ **.” Catlike she twists upright, voice thick with emotion. The resentment behind it is vicious enough to set Steven’s teeth on edge but he stubbornly stays put, bare feet dangling just above the hardwood floor as he regards her reaction.

For a moment afterwards, there’s only the sea between the two of them, rising and falling in whispers. After a moment Spinel sits up and rejoins him on the table, mumbling something nearly too soft to be heard.

“What was that?”

“How do you know what love is?”

“Oh... ”

Sensing his hesitation, Spinel took a breath before charging on, desperate to fill the silence before either her nerve or Steven himself left her. 

“I asked Peridot, and she tried to make me watch that _ dumb _show of hers- Lazuli doesn’t even want to look at me, I don’t know any others well enough to ask and I just- I want answers.” 

“O-Okay.” Taking her hand in his, Steven glances upward, taking a breath to corral his thoughts. “There are a lot of different kinds of love: there’s friendship love, which is between y’know, friends...”

“Like you and Connie?”

“Yeah,” Steven said, ducking his head and looking away. The light from outside silhouetted his face in hard shadow, making him look abnormally serious. 

“...Just like Connie and me.” 

After a moment, he caught himself and pressed on trying to downplay the sudden shift in mood. “And then there’s romantic love, like... like Garnet!”

“How can you tell the difference?”

“Well, most people feel like it’s easier to be friends- romance is more... planning-based!”

* * *

** _Context: Now best friends with Spinel, you hit a nerve by leaving her for a few days to see family._ **

“...that’s fine.” The calmness in your voice is almost superhuman, surprising in its smoothness. You can tell it catches her off guard, too; she blinks once, disbelieving, before shooting you an unreadable look. “‘S that it?” 

“Yeah? I mean, you said you didn’t want to come, it’s _ fine _.” 

This apparently isn’t what she wants to hear, and at your words her eyes narrow, her shoulders tightening in that confrontational way you’ve come to hate. 

“Oh, so it’s _ fine _.” 

“Yeah, I just said so-“

“Well, why’d you say _ that _?” She’s almost yelling now and the jump in volume is so sudden you flinch, nearly dropping your drink. You’re trying not to overreact, but her anger is infectious and almost on its own your expression darkens to match her own.

“...Because I don’t want to argue!” 

“Why **not** ?!” As she speaks she leans _ hard _ into your personal space, crowding you against the cushions of the couch in wordless challenge. You’re close enough that you can count her individual lashes, semi-transparent curls that seem to flicker in and out of existence as she blinks. The way she leans over you, the way your limbs tangle together is almost tender save for the anger crackling around you both. Instead, the space between you is a mockery of intimacy, even as one hand braces her weight on the couch just above your shoulder, close enough to feel the faint warmth radiating from her. 

“Because I respect you? Why ELSE would I ask?!”

* * *

** _Context: After the argument, Spinel feels guilty and pushes you away, ignoring you until Steven invites you over._ **

“Spinel, _ stop _ !” Your voice comes out hoarser than you’d like, shakier, but you take advantage of her silence and push on, trying to bridge the gap between you. “I didn’t come because Steven made me. No one begged me, tricked me, blackmailed me, _ whatever _. I’m here for you. To make sure you’re okay...” 

You cut yourself off, unsure how to continue- how to communicate your concern without telling on yourself. Against your better judgment you realize you’re both leaning in, closer than you remember. The gap between the two of you is slight by now you wonder if she can’t hear your pulse thrumming under your skin, skipping erratically as you force yourself to meet her oddly crystalline eyes. The sight of them is so striking, so devastatingly _ alien _ you find yourself nearly losing your train of thought.

“...Because you deserve it.”

-And she’s kissing you. It’s a clumsy attempt, just her lips against yours but you don’t move away until she does, watching the emotions flicker across her face as she struggles to form words. 

“...Sorry,” she says, eyes darting everywhere yet avoiding you entirely. “Garnet said it wouldn’t matter how we started but I did it _ wrong _ , I _ always _ do it wrong-” Before you can interrupt her she sags down the couch, still not looking at you, and buries her face in her hands. “What am I _ doing _?” 

“Spinel,” you mumble, gingerly putting a hand on her elbow. At the sound of your voice, her shoulders go stiff, nearly trembling under your touch. “Look at me.”

When she turns to you you cup her face with both hands and smile gently, bumping your forehead against her own as your thumbs smooth over the curve of her cheeks. After a moment, you let out a nervous chuckle and meet her eyes. “I think you mean, what are _ we _doing.” 

* * *

** _Context: You've just started dating and are trying to play it cool, but when Spinel shares good news you get overexcited._ **

“Are you serious? Spinel, that’s amazing! I’m so excited!” 

Immediately after you say that, you realize a few things. Firstly, everyone else has gone quiet, you’re sitting _ way _ too close, and you’re holding her hand.

As gently as possible you relinquish her and turn towards the others, trying to play off the blush you feel warming your face. “...right, you guys?”

* * *

** _Context: Now settled into dating, you've offered to brush Spinel's hair._ **

She’s quiet as you work, rolling your wrist to even out each stroke of the brush. Remembering her nerves from earlier, you decide not to push her any more- instead you push all your focus onto working out the knots in her hair, trying your best to be gentle even as she hardly reacts to the pulling. For a while, the world narrows down to just the two of you, existing in tandem with only the ticking of the kitchen clock breaking the silence. 

After a long while you stop hitting tangles altogether. Taking that as a positive sign, you put down the paddle brush and pick up the bristle one, running it over your palm in an automatic reflex- some brushes are too hard for your skin, and you want to make sure this one isn’t too hard for Spinel, either. Before you use it, though, you give her loose waves a final once over for knots, running your fingers through it slowly and feeling for any last snarls. When you reach the base of her neck, she gives a little jump, and when you do it again, she shivers, like she’s seen a ghost. 

You frown, pulling your hands away and wiping the moisture off on your jeans. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m... fine.”

...okay?

You take the ties and twist her hair back up. Your hands are still slick with a combination of water and conditioner from all the brushing, but you manage. You’re halfway through wrestling them down before you can pull the elastics into place. It takes a bit of finesse to get them on, but you're satisfied. You didn’t tell her about the pu in advance, but you’re praying it’ll go over well- they're hair bobbles, the exact shade of pink as her gem. 

You hope she notices.   
(You hope she doesn’t.)


	7. Chapter 7

**Context: Spinel invites you to her next mission with the Crystal Gems. As it's supposed to be an easy walk, you, Greg, and Connie join the group with the goal of finding an artifact deep within the caverns of a steep mountain. This scene takes place while you're chatting with Greg, and out of the conversation. **

A lone pebble clatters to the ground, startling the group. Ovoid and clean-cut, the thing stands out from the gritty soil of the floor around it, oddly eye-catching for its layer of grime. After a long silence, Pearl prods it with her spear, watching warily as it slides across earth with little resistance. When nothing happens, she gracefully leans down and plucks the rock up, deftly running her fingers over the surface. She’s obviously looking for something, and after a moment of searching she lets out a pleased sound and squeezes the pebble between forefinger and thumb. After a moment, nothing happens and she sighs Something like disappointment flickering across her face, faster than she can stop herself. As quickly as it comes, though, she will shakes it off, hand curling info a fist.

“I guess it’s broken, then.”

At this, Steven perks up and drifts closer, eyes fixating on the stone. “What is it?”

“Oh!” 

The idea of sharing knowledge delights her and she beams at the question, holding the stone aloft with motion a borne of practiced grace. “This is a call stone! They’re incredibly old. They used to function similarly to a wailing stone- remember _ those? _ However _ ..._They’re really only made for short-distance, cross planet communications. You’d synchronize them to a larger broadcast hub: again, like a wailing stone- and when a specific activation frequency was released, it would relay a -admittedly brief- message to the holder!”

* * *

**Context: Spinel invites you to her next mission with the Crystal Gems. As it's supposed to be an easy walk, you, Greg, and Connie join the group with the goal of finding an artifact deep within the caverns of a steep mountain. But you get separated and trapped, stuck in a strange chamber with an ancient gem hologram.**

“Hello there!” She says, staring unflinchingly into the camera with a friendly smile. Her movements are slow and deliberate, awkward yet graceful in a way that reminds you of a baby deer; beautiful yet unsure of itself. Carefully lowering herself into a seated position, she clasps her hands in front of her before continuing, the stilted pause before her next line the only indication of any remaining apprehension. “My name is Pink Diamond, and you are quite the lucky one!” As you take in her words, her delighted expression shifts slightly and she seems to stare into the distance, a faint furrow appearing between her delicately arched brows. 

“Humans are so... fragile. But... it’s okay! I can help you. I can fix that.” Satisfied with her explanation, she leans forward with conspiratorial glee and speaks in an exaggerated whisper like you were childhood friends.

“I managed to talk -well, beg- Blue into helping me help you, and she gave me this!” After a beat she paused, pity washing over her expression. “You’re perfectly safe here. Just hold still, and afterwards you can go right back to playing!” The last word was spoken with such saccharine joy you felt anger pierce the sickening fear, if only for a moment- you want to hit her, this pretty starry-eyed stranger with nothing but the best intentions. Still, no matter how powerful the urge was, you’re till where you were and she’s still there, wherever there was, blissfully unaware of the vitriol you’re projecting towards her and her little assistant. “Once it’s over, you’ll be safer- better.” As she finishes the words, the room rumbles violently, quivering like a monstrous stomach. The movement sets a fresh rush of fear through you, and you can vaguely feel the way your nails dig stinging half moons into the flesh of your palms. Vaguely, above the ringing in your ears you finally comprehend what she reminds you of, under all the indignities- she’s like a spoiled child, so entrenched in her private interests she’s blind to the world around her. Her expression is genuine, though and that only adds insult to injury- you can only assume she means well but in her deluded kindness the open hand she offers threatens you more than any closed fist.

Oblivious to the chaos around her, you watch as she suddenly decides she’s still not close enough and moves towards the recorder, scooting closer in tiny hops that would be charming in any other context. Her expression fills the screen, but she doesn’t stop there- instead she gets so close that only her upper face is visible, filling the screen with stunningly pink eyes and pale eyelashes so fine they resemble wisps of pulled cotton candy. As you’re contemplating this the ground shivers beneath you: When you look at it you see it’s somehow become patterned in fractals, pencil-thin neon lines cleanly cutting through the smooth surface. The uniform predictability of the lines, the unnatural glow of them, makes it feel like you've been pinned in the crosshairs of a weapon charging up. It isn't on until it is, and the sensation that overcomes you is pure torture.

The sound that leaves you doesn’t even sound real, doesn’t sound human; it’s a wild hunted thing, wild and anguished as every nerve in your body seizes like you’ve been electrocuted. The noise of it echoes against the walls of the cavern, filling the air until your ears ache, the sound doubling up in until it sounds like you’re not longer alone, losing yourself in a wave of disembodied voices. Finally, the strength leaves you entirely and hear your voice choke off in a sob, far-off and pathetic. Vaguely, you feel yourself sliding to one side of the room, as if the entire place is being tipped. The room seems to pull away, funneling you somewhere into the shadowy opening. You're struck with the sensation of falling and then, mercifully, darkness.

-

There’s something lodged in your chest. 

You feel it before you see it, hard and unyielding against the softness of your skin. When you breathe, it rises and falls with the motions of your chest, unbothered, and if you close your eyes and keep your hands off, you can almost forget it’s there entirely. 

That’s what scares you more then anything- if you were gushing blood or in agonizing pain, you’d know why it was happening- instead, you’re almost numb, indifferent to what looks like glass in your ribs, breaking the skin just below your sternum. In a moment of sheer curiosity, you run the flat of your finger against it, then tap it with a nail- the sensation is horribly sharp and intense, and you feel it through lance through like you’ve hit a nerve. After a few hours you refuse to look at it, through either direct eye contact or in of the many reflections of yourself you encounter, thrown back at you by the shimmering cavern walls. Instead you curl your hands into fists and lecture yourself on the proper care of stab wounds: _ do not remove the foreign object. To do so would be to remove the blockage and allow blood to flow freely from the wound. do not remove the foreign object. do _ ** _not_ ** _ remove the foreign object. _

You last two days_. _

On the third day (you think) it’s too much, just too much to sit here with a _thing_ nestled in your chest- so against your better judgment you grit your teeth and pick at the corners with your fingernails, taking steadying breaths even as fearful tears prick the corners of your eyes. 

_ One. _

Your fingers curl around the edges.

_ Two_. 

You brace your arms and tighten your shoulders, ignoring the metallic taste of fear in your throat.

_ Three_.

The muscles in your arms go tight with tension, almost petrify with the effort- but before you can make a move to pull the strength abandons you, leaving you silent as your arms fall to your sides. For a long moment, the world seems to go still, balanced on a pivot as shock stills you. Stunned, you lean forward until your forehead bumps the solid earth, breathing in the scent of packed earth. Then, with your somehow still-functioning lungs, you draw in a shaky breath and _ wail _, all your anguish made sound. 

* * *

**Context: After realizing you've been transmuted into a gem by the gem device in the mountain, you have a breakdown and spend days making your way to Beach City on foot and confront the Gems, scared and resentful of your new form.**

“Well, where do you want to be?” 

“I...” 

Your voice fades as you consider her question, turning your panicked gaze to your hands. You watch the newly-minted not flesh of your hands bunch and pull as you open and close them, unable to look away as your mind chugs to an answer. “I want to be gone.” The truth of the statement is hideous, an emotional monster under the bed, but the authenticity your knocks you breathless as bitter relief floods you and tightness leaves your shoulders. 

_ That’s it, isn’t it? I don’t want to be here, be _ ** _this_**_. _

As you grapple with this, this ridiculous notion of leaving yourself behind, you realize the others have gone silent. Cautioning a glance at the group, you’re almost shocked at the change in tone from your shouting match earlier. Steven’s eyes are wide, brimming with tears, and the relief you’d felt becomes short-lived when you hear your words through his ears, see the way your hands have floated up from your sides to drift thoughtfully around your gem. 

“I want to be gone.”

"What do you mean?"

“Steven... I didn’t mean it like that...”

_ Don’t I, though? _

Trying to recover your thoughts you swallow, hand still on his shoulder, but words fail you and you find yourself staring into his eyes as part of you _freezes_, seizes up with a what you’d imagine is an audible crunch. 

_ I can’t lie to him. I _ ** _can’t_**_. _

_ “ _ I’m sorry_. _ I didn’t mean to upset you _ .” _

_ That much is true, at least. _

"But... What _did_ you mean?" 

You push away from him then, from all of them, away from the suffocating pity in their voices. Your hands spring up to cover your face as you let out a sob. “I don’t- I can’t-“****

_ I can’t do this. Please, God, get me out of here. I want out I want out I want _ ** _OUT_ ** ****

An icy sensation sweeps through you at the thought and you freeze, parting your fingers to stare at the crowd before you.

“What are you doing.” You whisper at them, eyes darting between their faces. Your voice is flat, almost dead in its tone, teetering so close to rage some far gentler part of you cringes and flees, tail between its legs. ****

“What?” Steven breaks the silence, eyes bouncing between you and his family in a singular panic. ****

“What are you doing to me?” Before the words fully leave you another icy wave rushes through you, stronger this time, and with a muted sense of dread you notice the dark creeping along the edges of your vision, eating away at the room around you. “...stop it.” ****

Maybe it’s something in your voice or the strange expression you’re making but something like recognition flashes across his face and he rushes to you, hands outstretched. When you vanish, there's a rush of air like a sigh before Steven catches you, pulling your still-warm stone close.

The room is so quiet he can hear his own heartbeat in his ears as he turns back towards his family, your entire being balanced in his palm. 

"What are we going to do?"

* * *

**(BONUS) Cute Post-Story Cuddling:**

With a groan of protest, you drape an arm over your eyes and burrow deeper into the blanket, trying your best to escape the beams of light pushing in through the parted curtains. “Spins, I’m not getting out of bed this early, no matter what you do.” In an effort to keep her in bed, you pull her down by the shoulder and drag her under the blanket with you, deliberately tangling her legs with your own. 

“Can’t get enough of me, hm?” 

“If I say no, will you let me sleep?”

“...Maybe.” 

“Don’t get all coy on me,” you huff, lazily lacing your fingers with hers.

With a giggle, she presses her face into the curve of your neck and smiles, twining both arms around your waist.

“Well, how  _ do  _ you want me on you?”

The sensation of her breath tickles and you squirm at the sensation, trying not to laugh as she deliberately feathers over your pulse, raptly watching your expression. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all the work I had done! Sorry it's incomplete, but I figured as I was no longer interested I would share what I had to lay the piece to rest. The original idea was that once the reader had forgiven the Gems for losing them on the mountain, they would start to adjust to their new bodies, reconnecting with their family and joining the Crystal Gems as Black Agate. (Sidenote, I had planned to make Black Agates a stealth/spy class of gem, used by the Diamonds to gather info. Because of this reader could turn invisible) Soon after settling in, Beach City and the surrounding towns would have been attacked by Gem/Organic hybrid monsters, made of wild animals forcefully merged with gem tech and shards. The machine that turned reader into a gem has begun malfunctioning and spitting out unstable hybrids, and reader must help the Gems find the tools needed to destroy the device before it reaches critical levels.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave feedback! I have a plot already worked out but I love to hear your thoughts


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